


Cashing in my Bad Luck

by beans_on_toast



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, BAMF Nile Freeman, Depressed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Elf!Nile, Forger!Booker, Gen, Mention of Andy & Joe & Nicky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27616040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beans_on_toast/pseuds/beans_on_toast
Summary: Booker hates London. It's cold and wet and after the incident nearly two years ago, he's not even allowed to drink much. He tries not to think too hard about missing his family or the strange ache in his chest.That is until a young elf walks into a pub, introduces herself as Nile and asks for his help.(or the Urban Fantasy slightly Book of Nile AU exactly one person asked for)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 56





	Cashing in my Bad Luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Serinah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serinah/gifts).



Booker finishes his cup with a grimace and signals for another one. The bartender, Nadia, eyes him warily, trying to decide if she should cut him off. With a mumbled curse he slides a crumpled bill onto the bartop. She takes it and shoves it into her low cut top. She moves down to the other end of the bar and drops a splash of liquor in a glass before drowning it in some god awful fizzy drink and brings it back to him. It tastes like shit. He drinks it anyway. It does nothing, not to him. He barely feels buzzed and he's been drinking all day. 

Three drunk dwarves, shoved into a booth in the far corner of the room, erupt into shouts and jeers. Booker’s eyes flick to the TV screen. The home team has scored. A tightness creeps into Booker's chest. He should call Joe. It's been what? Seven months? Shit. He should definitely check in on him and Nicky. Maybe even make an effort to go see them. He thinks suddenly of flying, the air brushing past his face and the feeling of being free. _freefreefree_. He rolls his shoulders to relieve the ache there. That’s not a path to travel down right now. He sips more of his drink, hoping beyond hope there will be the tiniest bit of alcoholic oblivion. There’s not.

‘I’d like a drink please.’ Booker looks over, surprised. American, smartly dressed in a red top, jeans and a white jacket. Long braids trail down her back and gold hoops dangle from her pointed ears. This is not the bar tourists normally stumble into, it’s too far off the beaten path. 

‘Got any ID?’ Nadia asks. 

‘I’m an elf.’ The woman gestures to her ears. 

‘Still going to need ID.’ The woman sighs and pulls out her phone. She slides a card out of the case and shows it to Nadia.

‘Can I have a Doom Bar please?’ Nadia nods and grabs a half pint. The woman shifts slightly, flipping one braid over her shoulder, when Booker sees it. He turns his head to the side and squints. There it is, the tell tale shimmer of a glamour. He huffs into his drink. That's a bold move, he’ll give her that. 

The woman scrolls absentmindedly on her phone while she’s waiting. Booker tries to act like he’s not looking, but he knows he’s failing miserably. She is, simply put, stunning. Her eyes are deep brown, set in a round face with full lips.. She glances up to catch him looking and those lips twitch up in a small grin.

Booker snaps his head back to his own drink. The chair next to him moves, scuffs along the floor. He doesn’t turn to look, but it takes a Herculean effort.

‘Hey.’ She says. Due to his enhanced senses, he can _feel_ her. She’s sitting close enough he can smell her perfume. He knows, without looking, that she’s fiddling with her beer because he can hear it rolling back and forth on the polished countertop. ‘You come here often?’

He laughs at that and risks a quick sideways glance at her. A small, crooked grin lights up her face. She looks younger than he would have first guessed. He’d place her under thirty. 

‘Glamours are illegal here.’ He catches the quick flash of surprise in her face before she smooths it away again. She’s still smiling, but there is a dangerous glint in her eye.

‘You going to report me?’ She takes a sip of her beer. He shrugs. It goes without saying that he won’t. He’s got at least three different knives and one gun of highly dubious origin hidden on his person. Despite his first impression, she knows exactly what type of place this is. ‘I’m Nile, by the way.’ She offers him her hand.

‘Booker.’ He looks at her hand and she lets it drop. 

‘That your real name?’ She idly drags her finger along the rim of her glass and Booker tries not to stare at it.

‘You think I’m going to give my real name to an elf?’ He asks, with a shake of his head. He leans back, draping his arm over the back of his stool. She flashes a grin.

‘Worth a shot.’ She leans in closer. An electric shock zips up Booker’s spine. He shifts his shoulders slightly, trying to work out the sudden rush of tension. ‘I was told I could find someone to help me here. I need some documents, IDS, background. Basic stuff. But quality.’ Her body language hasn’t changed at all. Her tone is as even as if she’s discussing the football scores. It sets Booker’s teeth on edge, makes him feel unsettled.

‘That’ll take time and would need specs in advance.’ He matched her tone, calm and unhurried. Inside, his stomach was churning. ‘And won’t be cheap.’

‘I don’t want cheap. I want quality.’ She finishes her drink quickly. He does _not_ watch her throat when she does. ‘Nice place. May come in for a quick pint tomorrow. Say about eleven?’ She drops a bill on the bar and nods to Nadia. Then she gets up and leaves without a backward glance. 

Nadia makes a noise in the back of her throat and he realises his mouth is hanging open. He shuts it with a snap.

\--- 

Nile arrives exactly at eleven. Her hair is twisted up on her head and covered with a baseball cap. She flashes him a smile as she slides onto the barstool next to him. He’s nursing a black coffee that tastes like burnt dishwater. She doesn’t order anything. There isn’t much small talk, just enough for the casual observer. Before he feels ready, she leans over laughing and drapes her arm around his shoulders. She smells nice, like juniper and the clean, cheap soap found at hotels. His mind is whirring when he feels the hot press of her hand on his leg as it dips into his pocket. _The specs_ , he hurries to remind himself. She straightens. The arm still draped over his back feels like a hot brand. He feels the warm pressure start in his chest and he’s very glad he stuck to coffee this morning. 

What he is supposed to do now is give a time for the drop tomorrow, excuse himself and leave. Simple in, simple out. He’d been in the game long enough to know that. But he also spent three hours last night staring at Joe and Nicky’s contact details in his phone before cracking out the last bottle of his whiskey. He drank with one hand on the fire extinguisher and woke up feeling like shit. So instead of stumbling back to his flat to run forgeries by himself, he asks if she wants to join him. 

And for some incomprehensible reason, she agrees. 

Booker’s hands tremble slightly as he sets up the computer and starts the programme. _This is a bad idea,_ says the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Joe’s. And he can’t even argue. This is the worst idea he’s had in a very long time (and he’s known for his bad ideas at this point). Nile lounges casually on his sofa. Her now un-glamoured long sword is propped up against the arm. She has taken off her cap and shrugged out of her jacket. She’s just wearing a purple vest top. Booker tries not to notice the way the muscles in her arm flex.

‘How long do you think this will take?’ She seems relaxed and he feels like a coiled spring.

‘A couple of hours at least.’ He taps out a cigarette and offers her one. She shakes her head no. ‘With the quality you’ve asked for it’s a pretty intensive job.’

‘But you can do it?’ 

‘I can do it.’ He grins and takes a drag on his cigarette. The smoke feels good in his lungs. It centres him. ‘I’ve got to ask though-’

‘Oh, I’m sure you do.’

‘Why don’t you just use a glamour to get in? Your work with your sword was good. Why go through all the trouble and expense for all this?’ He gestures to his equipment. 

‘You saw through my glamour.’ She crosses her legs and drapes one arm over the back of the sofa. The other one brushes the hilt of her sword.

‘I have,’ He searches for the right words, ‘good senses for that sort of thing.’ She rolls her wrist towards him, an invitation to go on. He doesn’t.

Her lips thin slightly. ‘There are sphinxes covering the entrances.’ He inhales wrong, the smoke going down into his lungs. He thumps at his chest with a closed fist.

‘Sphinxes?’ He props his cigarette on a dirty dish and runs his hands through his hair. ‘ _Shit_. What are you getting yourself into Nile?’ Her lips turn down slightly and her hand is now closed over the hilt of her sword. He waves his hand irritably. ‘Don’t bother. It was rhetorical. Why didn’t you tell me?’ 

‘Does it change anything?’ She is in the same relaxed pose, but the tension in her jaw gives her away. She looks like a large predatory cat, casually waiting to strike.

‘Yes, of course!’ He reaches over and presses a few buttons on his monitor.

‘If you don’t think you can do it Mr. Booker-’ He snorts. 

‘Please. I’m probably the only person in London who could do this for you.’ He cracks his knuckles, suddenly feeling almost giddy. ‘But we’re going to need a whole different set of coverage tracks. You should have told me so I could set the programme right.’ He searches through the code quickly, finding the bits he wants to update and change. When he finishes, he presses the start button again.

He turns to Nile with a grin. She returns it. ‘Is this going to change my time frame?’

‘Probably, a few extra hours. Maybe take the rest of the day? We can arrange a time and place to have the drop off, if you have to head off?’ 

‘I’ve not got anywhere to be Mr. Booker.’

‘Please, Mr. Booker was my father. Call me Booker.’ She laughs at that, a high, lyrical sound that goes straight to Booker’s chest. He draws deep on the cigarette. He focuses on the burn in his lungs and not the way she looks comfortable, looks _right_ , on his sofa.

\---

'You expecting more friends?' Nile asks as he's laying the food out on the coffee table.

'Huh? No that's just how many poppadoms they give everyone.' He fishes around in the bottom of the bags for the individually wrapped cutlery and swears when there are none.

'Sure, that seems like smart business practice.' He laughs over his shoulder at her as he runs to the kitchenette and grabs some, thankfully clean, knives and forks. And some napkins, just in case. 

'Listen, Yank.' He drops the utensils on his coffee table, in between the open plastic containers. He presses down on the aforementioned stack of poppadoms and grins at the satisfying crack. 'Out of the two of us here, I am the one who can confirm this is how it is in London.’

‘But you’re not from London?’ She takes the plate he offers. He shakes his head. ‘Where are you from then?’

‘I was born in France but I bounced around a lot when I was younger. I didn’t really stay in one place. I didn’t have much of a family anyway and… I’m sorry, I’m not sure why I’m telling you all this.’ He shovels some rice and curry onto his plate then sits back on his chair. ‘You’ve just got one of those faces I guess.’

‘So you’re not worried about giving all this information to an elf? Could get you into trouble.’ She teases. Her brow furrows as she eyes up unlabeled plastic containers and Booker finds it unbelievably adorable.

‘You’re not building a contract right now, I think I’m safe.’ Booker knows the minute the words are out of his mouth he’s made a mistake.

‘And how do you know that?’ The look in her eyes is sharp.

He swallows audibly. ‘I just know how they feel. My brother, not my real brother, my foster brother, but anyway, his husband’s an elf. I used to spend a lot of time with the two of them and Nicky taught me how to feel if a contract was being formed. It’s helpful in my line of work.’ He waves his hand at the equipment. She hums at him, letting the subject drop for now. But he feels like she’s keeping a tally, trying to piece him together.

They talk through dinner, though they stick to safe, easy topics like her travels around Europe, the weather in London, their favourite cafes in Amsterdam. It was the most companionable Booker had been in months, maybe years. He tells her what he hates about London and his younger years, which inevitably leads to Joe.

‘Joe, your brother, he’s an elf?’ She asks, stackings some empty containers on her plate and sliding it onto the coffee table.

‘No, he’s human. He’s a witch though. Pretty good one. But his husband, Nicky, he’s an elf. And there’s Andy. She’s like… our big sister? Literally. She’s part giant.’ He grins and leans back in his chair. He feels full and relaxed from the good food and lively conversation.

‘So what does that make you?’ Her tone is light and almost teasing. But there is an undercurrent he can’t place and his shoulders start itching and the warmth in his chest blooms. 

‘What makes you think I’m not human?’

‘For one, you could see my glamour and two, you said you could sense a contract being formed.’ She tilts her head to the side and slowly looks him up and down Booker feels naked under her gaze. ‘You’re not an elf, obviously. I don’t see any spell books or candles, so unlikely you’re a witch.' Her lip quirks up. 'You're a bit tall to be a halfling. So, Booker, _what are you_?’

It’s not a contract, not exactly, but it’s a command. Something in Booker feels compelled to obey. He wants to tell this beautiful, impossible woman everything.

‘I’m nobody.’ He can’t meet her gaze. He pushes the food around his plate with his fork. Everything in his mouth feels like it’s turned to ash. He puts his plate down and reaches for a cigarette instead. ‘A good forger, that’s all. Not like you.’ Nile makes a questioning noise in the back of her throat. 

‘Not like me?’

‘You know,’ he gestures towards her. ‘Elf walks into a pub with a big sword and in need of a dodgy new ID that will get you past _sphinxes_. You have a story to tell.’ 

'It's complicated.' She takes a long sip of her beer.

‘Isn’t it always?’

‘I’m on a quest. Yes, yes. I know. It sounds archaic.’ Nile says as he makes a face. She hesitates for a moment and peels the label off her beer bottle. ‘I am looking for something, something I need very badly.’ Her hands are trembling slightly and honestly that’s the most terrifying part. He wants to back track, talk more about Amsterdam or shitty beer or even Joe and Nicky.

‘Nile, I-’’ 

‘How much do you know about Stephen Merrick, Sebastien?’ She fixes him with a look and Booker goes absolutely still. His brain is whirring. She knows his name. She knows who he is. She knows _what_ he is.

 _She can’t know_ , he thinks. It’s not possible. No one knows, besides his family. And they don’t fully understand. Hell, he doesn’t fully understand and he was there. He remembers the sound of the claxons, Nicky shouting. Sharp, searing pain in his chest. Heavy metal doors that were hot enough to singe his hands. His legs heavy and his lungs heaving. The feel of breath on his face and sense of _something_ shifting in the dark. The fear and awe and pain of rough scales beneath his hands…

Nile makes a noise. She moves to the nearest side of the couch and her dark eyes search his. Booker feels lightheaded. It’s as though he’s watching from outside his body. His skin itches and his lungs are burning. He takes a long drag on his cigarette. The ritual of breathing in, holding the smoke, and breathing out is the only thing grounding him at this moment. 

‘I’ve been watching him for a very long time. For years. I have all the time in the world and he has something I need. And then, nearly two years ago something happened. Something happened at Merrick’s lab and he’s kept that something very quiet.’ She puts her beer down and settles her hands in her lap. 

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘You know why.’ She shifts and knocks her knee lightly against his. ‘I need your help, Booker.’ 

He swallows, his tongue too large for his mouth. It tastes bitter. He wants to say _anything_ but settles on ‘How can I help?’ 

‘Merrick has a dragon and I need its heart.’

His hand presses to his chest automatically. He doesn’t correct her. Merrick has a dragon, that’s true. But it no longer has its heart. It’s a lot closer than she could imagine. Booker feels his pulse pounding and wonders if she can hear it.

‘Well, I would have to make some calls.’ He admits. She leans back, places her hands behind her head and smirks.

‘I’ve not got anywhere to be Mr. Booker.’

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a beautiful prompt idea from WritingSesh in the All & More discord.
> 
> I can't believe y'all got me writing this ship, but here we are! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Title from _Some Nights_ by Fun.


End file.
